


knowing you (will always be here)

by morelenmir



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Ficlet, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6992104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morelenmir/pseuds/morelenmir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Murgh," she tells the table with feeling, putting her forehead down on the remaining sheets. Brunette strands escape her hair tie, brush over her cheekbones.</p>
<p>A smooth chuckle, and a deep, cultured voice replies, "I didn't know you felt so strongly, my dear."</p>
<p>One brown eye cracks open and peers up at the newcomer. Tall, blonde, impeccable...everything. Padmé sits up, fingers spread on the table in surprise.</p>
<p>"Satine!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	knowing you (will always be here)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks [Starshifter ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blueiaf/pseuds/Starshifter) for pointing out the horrid lack of Satidala fic. We can make this a better world.

Now that it’s later in the day, the café is pleasantly quiet. The streaming music is at a soothing level instead of the higher volumes it is usually set to in the morning and afternoon. The espresso machine’s hissing is intermittent, white noise. There is an abundance of obscenely comfortable armchairs with conveniently situated end tables interspersed throughout the small establishment.

Padmé Amidala is parked in one such chair, and has been for probably too many hours. The large table dragged in front of her seat effectively traps her in place. Papers are spread over the nicked wooden surface, open folders barely visible beneath the documents. Her right hand cramped into uselessness almost thirty minutes ago; she had switched to her left and continued working. A small laptop teeters on the far edge of the table.

She scowls at a page and taps a pearl grey fingernail on the troublesome paragraph. Keeping her place, Padmé flicks through a sheaf of papers stacked to one side. She is more vehement than intended--a few of the pages take offense to her riffling and glide off the table. They scatter over the floorboards with a soft _shwush_. Commanding as it is, Padme's glare doesn't make the pages rise into the air and return to the table.

"Murgh," she tells the table with feeling, putting her forehead down on the remaining sheets. Brunette strands escape her hair tie, brush over her cheekbones.

A smooth chuckle, and a deep, cultured voice replies, "I didn't know you felt so strongly, my dear."

One brown eye cracks open and peers up at the newcomer. Tall, blonde, impeccable...everything. Padmé sits up, fingers spread on the table in surprise.

"Satine!"

Satine Kryze holds a robin's egg blue mug in one hand, steam wisping above it. The other hand is perched on her hip, long fingers curving over her tailored jacket. Padmé notes with delight it is the deep blue and plum jacket and skirt; one of her favorite outfits. It handsomely compliments the light-featured woman. Satine lifts her chin, fixing the seated Padmé with a regal look.

"Senator."

"Duchess." Padmé holds her own regal expression for a moment before she shakes her head, a pleased smile curving her dark lips. A pen falls out of her now-sloppy bun, hits the ground with a perversely loud clatter. Both women stare at it until Padmé mutters, "I honestly thought I had lost that pen."

A laugh remarkably like a guffaw breaks from the Duchess and she scoops up the pen, returning it to Padmé. Their hands touch and Satine makes a soft noise of dismay. "Your hands are freezing. How are your hands freezing, it's barely autumn."

Padmé grimaces. "Poor circulation in the extremities. I rarely notice anymore." She raises her hands, wiggles her fingers up at her. With a little frown line between her pale eyebrows, Satine promptly sticks the ceramic mug into Padmé's hands. 

"Yes, so I’ve noticed," Satine says dryly.

Padmé hums and wraps her fingers around it, trying to absorb the warmth as quickly as possible. Hitching the strap of her satchel higher on her shoulder, Satine gathers the flyaway papers and returns them to the tabletop before tugging another armchair closer to Padmé.

"Are you still working on that treatise, darling?" she asks as she drops her satchel beside the chair. Deft fingers undo the buttons on her jacket and Satine relaxes back into the plush armchair.

Another grimace. "It's all terms and conditions arguments by now."

Narrowing her eyes, Satine chides, "You are aware you have lackeys that are paid to write these for you."

"I just like to go over it," protests Padmé. "There are so many ludicrously complicated requests and demands to balance and countermand..."

Satine rolls her eyes. "If we could but simply lock the delegates in a closet to make them hash it out without fear of them actually killing one another," she muses, tapping a considering finger on the arm of her chair.

Padmé chuckles, leans over toward Satine. "You are my favorite cranky pacifist, love." She kisses her cheek. No pale imprint from her lipstick is left when she pulls back to give the blonde a soft grin.

"Please," Satine says, turning to press a kiss to Padmé's lips, "you don't know any other pacifists as cranky as me." Her blue eyes are bright, warm with affection.

"We-ell." Padmé sits back in her absurdly soft armchair and stares into space, wearing a mock-thoughtful expression. "When it comes to cranky."

"Bail," they say in unison, and Satine snickers quietly.

"That poor man."

“There is a subtle joy in watching him get progressively more irked by the delegates’ inane requests,” Padmé grins, taking a sip from the mug. Her slender eyebrows lift in surprise. “This isn’t tea?”

Satine waves a dismissive, manicured hand. “You know I never drink tea this late in the day, and everyone is well aware of your appalling coffee habit, darling.”

“Aw,” she croons, “what would I ever do without you?”

Satine arches an eyebrow. “Why, you would continue to be defiant, wickedly sharp, and superior at bludgeoning wayward parties into obeying or circumventing the law.” Her eyes twinkle, “Whichever is the morally right way to go, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Padmé agrees loftily.

The two women share a tender look, quiet smiles resting on their faces. One of Padmé’s fingers traces a swirling pattern on the back of Satine’s nearest hand. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

Delicate smile lines appear at the corner of Satine’s eyes. “Always,” she replies.


End file.
